We're All Someone's Muse
by glambertcello
Summary: After she first meets Castle, she writes her first poem. As she spends more time with him, her obsession with poetry grows, until she finds she can't live without it. (Note: This has been discontinued for the meantime. I apologize. There wasn't enough inspiration for me to keep going. I'm leaving up just in case I return to it. I apologize.)
1. Prologue

**[So here's my big project I just started. Part of it is an excuse to write crappy freestyle poetry, the other is because it's an excuse to rewatch all of Castle. It's a huge project, so beware.  
**

**Basically, Kate writes a poem about meeting Castle, and becomes obsessed with poetry. She writes at least a couple of poems for each episode. Unfortunately, she writes poetry like me; very freestyle, with nothing really cool about it. If you don't like it, I totally understand. This is more a fun activity for me.  
**

**I don't update regularly. EVER. There's even a good chance I'll get tired of this and quit halfway too. But it's already progressed into the third episode, so it'll at least have some content.  
**

**I hope you at least somewhat enjoy. I do not own anything related to Castle!]  
**

**Prologue**

_"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."_

-Oscar Wilde

Her body was livid with anger; it made her eyes spark ferociously and her lip was curved in a snarl.

She was Kate Beckett; she was a cop. It was normal for her perps to be rude, to be offensive. In fact, it would be _abnormal_ if they weren't. All a part of the job, she would often remind herself, and she would force herself to remain calm.

Unfortunately, her strategy decided to quit working as soon as _he _walked through those doors.

Richard Castle. Well-known crime novelist who was world-renowned for his insane parties and his love of making love. Of course, he was also the type to be used to women throwing themselves at him. So when he saw that Kate wasn't budging from her duties, he decided to become more… _annoying_.

God, did she hate the man. His cocky grin, his playboy mannerisms, his quick humor. Did she hate the man's writing? No, of course not; she was a die-hard fan. But did she hate the man? Hate would be a _major_ understatement.

It didn't help that he threw her off her game.

Taking her seat at her desk, Kate twined her fingers together, leaning forward to rest her head on them. _Ugh_, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes. _Now I'm so pissed off, I can barely concentrate._

_You could always write poetry_, a memory in the back reaches of her mind answered.

Sitting up suddenly, she furrowed her brow, confused. It was from the second time she had visited her old therapist, a woman with an annoyingly-soothing voice that had made her want to take one of the heavy dictionaries and use it to pound in her head. She hadn't seen the woman in years, not since she decided there was no point in trying to get over her mother's murder. Didn't even remember the woman's name. And yet, the memory had resurfaced without warning, without any reason, really.

At the suggestion of writing poetry, Kate had scoffed. She'd never been one to enjoy taking pen to paper, one to take her feelings and force them on someone fictional. Not that she hadn't given it a chance; she'd written five poems before deciding to ignore the advice, all of which were sitting in a drawer at home. At the time, it hadn't been for her.

But, now that she considered it, now that she pondered the idea, Kate realized it wasn't such a bad idea. Richard Castle did it; why couldn't she? _It might get rid of some of the anger_, she pondered, finally deciding to opt for writing. She could write poem. It couldn't hurt, right?

Shuffling around, Kate finally pulled out a sheet from the printer, and began writing on it.


	2. Just A Little Suggestion

**Season 1, Episode 1**

**"Flowers for your Grave"**

**Number of Poems: 4**

**.  
**

**Just A Little Suggestion**

**"Flowers for your Grave" (1/4)**

**.  
**

What gives you authority

To think you're allowed to mess

With me when I'm working?

Were you dropped on your head

So much that you think

That you can be so rude?

.

Everything about your attitude

Seeps arrogance from its pores;

Your cocky flirting and

Endless number of interruptions

Makes me want to slap you,

Slap away what makes you

So _annoying_, so _you_.

.

If we ever meet again,  
Know that I'm in charge.

It is my job to boss around others

And maintain the safety

Of every person in New York.

I suggest you cooperate.


	3. What Kind of a Psychic Are You?

**What Kind of a Psychic Are You?**

**"Flowers for your Grave" (2/4)**

.

Are you some sort of psychic?

Did you suddenly get a feeling

You would be meeting me

And research everything about me?

.

There's no ordinary person

Who can take one look at me,

And immediately recite my whole life story

Right back to my face.

It's just not possible.

.

So how do you know so much?

.

Do you spend hours

Of your extravagant life

Researching how to read people,

How to tear away the shell

And discover the tasty treat

That is disguised within?

.

Or did you only research me,

Become an expert on me

And then throw it all at me?

.

I really want to know.


	4. Trickery

**Trickery**

**"Flowers for your Grave" (3/4)**

.

It involved sweet words,

Mentions that you actually care

About what I do as well as

Our brief time spent together.

It was a hint of humanity,

Which should have been

My very first hint.

.

Your gratitude was written

Within the pages of your book.

How had you known that I liked them?

It was of leaning forward,

Stenciling in a memory

Of your lips on my cheek.

.

It was of those few moments

Where I wondered why

I hadn't noticed before.

.

It was also revelation,

Fury the moment I realized

Your gift was to disguise

The robbery of something

Far more important to me.

.

The creation was your future;

A time spent in jail

For your crimes against me.


	5. King of Idiots

**King of Idiots**

**"Flowers for your Grave" (4/4)**

.

Embrace your title,

Oh king of idiots.

You rule well,

Providing a perfect

Example for those

You lead.

.

Your mind lacks

All rational thought,

Leading you to

Steal handcuff

Keys and

Chase after

A murderer who

Has a gun

Right in his

Right hand.

.

It seems only

A logical choice

For you to

Strike up a

Conversation,

Ask him

About why

He might kill

His very own

Sister,

While not

Informing an

Actual cop

The safety is

On the gun,

Freaking me out.

.

I hope I'm

Not the first

To point out

Your idiocy.

.

You notice that,

Right?

.

Probably not.


	6. Did I Break Some Law?

**Season 1, Episode 2**

**"Nanny McDead"**

**Number of Poems: 6**

**.**

**Did I Break Some Law?**

**"Nanny McDead" (1/6)**

.

Seriously, did someone

Higher up decide that

They hated me?

.

Did I commit

Some crime against

The universe or something?

.

So why am I

Stuck with you now?

What did I do?


	7. There's This Thing Called Respect

**There's This Thing Called Respect**

**"Nanny McDead" (2/6)**

.

Can you not see the horror on their faces?

Did you not hear your lips form such words?

It's disrespectful, you know.

.

Normal people know to be polite

Whenever someone had been lost.

Instead, all you do is get giddy,

As if your parents had surprised you with Disney tickets.

.

Is respect a word foreign to you?

I sometimes wonder if you're an alien

Or a cyborg, lacking natural emotions.

.

Whatever your problem is,

Please, have some respect.

You have no idea how many social codes

You have broken, just today.


	8. The Storyteller

**The Storyteller**

**"Nanny McDead" (3/6)**

.

Your tone is what scared me.

The deep, storytelling persona

That you put on yourself,

Trying to convince us

That a neighbor killed her.

.

I can see the fear in the eyes

Of Ryan and Esposito;

You're leaving them with a

Mystery novel image

Before they could read your books.

You've even gotten to

Montgomery, who is looking like

He wants to arrest the

Person from your tales,

Not the real murderer.

.

When you finally shift back

Into you, no longer storyteller,

I can tell your words

Have shifted the case.

A miniscule shift, but there all the same.


	9. Pondering Your Tale

**Pondering Your Tale**

**"Nanny McDead" (4/6)**

.

What happened to you?

What crime did you commit

To earn such a fate?

.

We have begun following

Random paths, random stories.

So far, nothing leads us correctly.

.

You lay frozen on a slab.

Your face almost begging to tell.

I wish you could.


	10. Mister Mom

**Mister Mom**

**"Nanny McDead" (5/6)**

.

You're irresponsible, immature,

Incapable, ignorant, and yet,

You somehow managed to

Properly raise your child.

.

Somehow, she survived childhood.

Her intellect is excellent,

She's a gorgeous young adult,

And even is responsible!

.

Novels could be written to speculate

How you—as her mom _and_ dad—

Could have possibly made her

Turn out as well as she did.

.

And yet, you made time for her

Over your writing, your loves.

It's almost admirable, how you raised her.

That is, until you open your mouth.


	11. Chloe's Tragedy

**Chloe's Tragedy**

**"Nanny McDead" (6/6)**

.

Your story is a tragedy.

I can't imagine your life,

Dealing with the guilt.

.

You never meant for her to die,

Your hands connected to

The weapon that ended her.

It wasn't even a weapon,

So really, how could you have meant it?

.

At first, you become an actress,

Pretending and pretending

Until you can't anymore.

And then, the knife comes out.

.

You only use it on those

You believe to be guilty.

It is only yourself.

Not _him_, not _her_, just _you_.

All you want is to die,

To disappear, to be forgotten.

.

For your sake, I wish you could.


End file.
